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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27451276">the dealer's hand</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeatrixGtheMaskedDogNoobsomeExagerjunk/pseuds/BeatrixGtheMaskedDogNoobsomeExagerjunk'>BeatrixGtheMaskedDogNoobsomeExagerjunk</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>19th Century CE RPF, Artists RPF, Historical RPF, Starry - Dahan &amp; D'Angelo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>As of Publication This Musical is Still Being Workshopped, Characterization taken from the Concept Album + Additional Research, Gen, Historical Inaccuracy, LISTEN TO STARRY, NEW DEMOS ON NOVEMBER 27, Post-Ear Incident, Post-Yellow House, Starry's Vincent van Gogh and Paul Gauguin are such interesting foils, The Relationship Between the Creator of Art and the Seller of Art, Vincent's Farmer Vibes vs Gauguin's Pirate Energy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 16:21:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>648</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27451276</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeatrixGtheMaskedDogNoobsomeExagerjunk/pseuds/BeatrixGtheMaskedDogNoobsomeExagerjunk</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After all that had happened in the Yellow House, Paul Gauguin only then noticed how awfully similar the Van Gogh brothers were to each other.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Vincent van Gogh &amp; Paul Gauguin, Vincent van Gogh &amp; Theo van Gogh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the dealer's hand</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>
  <b>This was made from the result of binge-watching a lot of Van Gogh documentaries </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>If Gauguin's memoirs were of any indication, the yellow house period of his life definitely weighed on him until his death</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Gauguin and Theo aren't meant to take on historical appearances here; they are cast according to the Concept Album, with Jeff Blim as Paul Gauguin and Joe Viba as Theo van Gogh</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <i>"We’re now living here in a world of painting where it’s unspeakably paralyzed and wretched. The exhibitions, the shops for paintings, everything, everything is occupied by people who all intercept money. And you mustn’t think that I’m imagining this. People pay a lot for the work when the painter himself is dead. And people always disparage living painters by pointing unanswerably to the work of those who are no longer with us."</i>
</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>It was just two months. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>How did so much happen in just two months?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Paul Gauguin distanced himself from the uncharacteristically frantic motions of the dealer, looking at all the paintings he made that had not been sold yet.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A strange fear runs through him as Theo adjusts the sunflowers sewn onto his coat, the sunflowers made like some sort of makeshift replacement for lost buttons. The scrappiness of it is a marker of identification with the bohemian sensibilities of the avant-garde. Its yellow petals contrast with the indigo cloth, like stars during the night of a drunken stupor. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was as though Theo was Vincent himself, but not really. They are walking reminders of each other, and that pains the Frenchman the most.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I tried my best,” Theo mustered out, rolling up his sleeves, revealing his weary arms of ebony, whose fingers stained with ink rather than paint, and whose nails polished rather than dried in dirt, “Monsieur Portier was real clever getting that Degas before I could, and the paintings Pissarro wants me to sell for him have not been doing as well as I thought they would—“</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And my paintings?” The snark from Gauguin’s voice bites into Theo, as though being caught red-handed in the crime of being peculiar.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The Dutch dealer straightened himself into a proper postured pose.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m afraid it’s still the one sell.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Just the one sell?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That shouldn’t make you lose hope, Monsieur Gauguin,” They sounded so similar in their passions that it was sickening. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The harvest will rise, and it’s never late,” Theo added in a sing-song tone.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Gauguin blew a raspberry, “Bold of you to assume that it’s a harvest, Monsieur Van Gogh.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, what else could it be?” Theo glanced back to the paintings on the floor, “Painting seems akin to hard labor, right? Kind of like, the hard work of farmers...”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What if it’s simply treasure, waiting to be found by the right artist?” Gauguin said, baring his soul and twiddling the strings of the necklaces on him, “Why wait for the reward when you can go looking for it yourself, right?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“X does mark the spot,”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Exactly!” Gauguin was pleased to know that Theo had a much better-crafted sense of understanding, “The things people miss out on when they resign themselves to stay, to refuse something more fulfilling! Freedom is right there, and yet it’s idiots like the bastards of this wretched place that keep thinking they’ll find it here.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Theo blinked at Gauguin.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I said what I said. I will not retract it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Good to know that I’m an idiot, Monsieur Gauguin,” Theo crouched down to reach for a painting.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I wasn’t talking about you,” The artist approached the dealer, “I mean the other impressionists. They don’t even know what they want, and that’s why they’re not making anything notable.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Now that can’t be right,” Theo picked up a painting of some Arlesiennes, reminiscent yet of Gauguin’s earlier Brittany works, “because as far as I’m concerned, I actually see something of note.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You see something that would sell.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, that too.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And what do you know, Theo? You don’t even paint,” Gauguin neared the dealer to make sure Theo was careful with the canvases, but it seemed to be that Theo was far more careful than he himself was, based on the daintiness of the dealer’s hold, “you’re by all means a salesman!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I do sell art, Monsieur Gauguin. However, if I work for profit alone, what reason should I have to believe in you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The dealer’s tone told the painter that Theo van Gogh had </span>
  <em>
    <span>that fire</span>
  </em>
  <span> too, the kind that burned the soul, whose smoke choked and let its heat prevail against the strongest of storms. Chills ran down Gauguin’s spine as Theo’s question reverberated within his mind.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, the madness runs in the family.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Because you’ve struck gold, Monsieur Van Gogh.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <i>"Theo works for all the Impressionists, he’s done something for and sold for all of them, and will certainly go on doing so. But just these few things that I write to you about the matter will show you how he’s something very different from the run of dealers, who care nothing for the painters."</i>
</p>
<p>
  <a href="http://vangoghletters.org/vg/letters/let626/letter.html">
    <span>- Vincent van Gogh to Willemien van Gogh, June 1888</span>
  </a>
</p></blockquote></div></div>
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